Rethinking Solo Travel in Ureki, Georgia

I’m sitting in the reception area of a hotel in Ureki Georgia, with bedding and other random hospitality debris piled high around me, and there’s one thing for certain.

I am definitely traveling alone.

I know this because both the hotel owner and his right-hand wing woman have made a point of asking me several times, in Russian, about it. “Только один человек?” Just one person? “Нет подруги?” No friend?

Yes, just one person. No, no friend.

But such a big backpack!

Do they think I’m hiding someone in there?

They wouldn’t be grilling me about it, if my room had been ready. But I made a last minute decision to come to Ureki, Georgia’s semi-famed black sand beach, and reserved my room just a few hours prior. I saw as I was walking in that all over town there was massive spring cleaning going on. The pastel colored hotels were draped in mattresses and pillows and sheets everywhere, hanging out the windows, lining balconies, piled on outdoor chairs.

Now, the owner of the hotel seems disconcerted as he studies his computer. In true Georgian fashion, I don’t think they checked for any booking updates this morning, and I may be without a room. But after thinking for a minute, the owner sets me down in the reception area with a glass of his homemade wine – and disappears.

So starts a half hour of me sitting very much alone in a far-flung corner of Georgia, completely clueless as to what is going on.

After about ten minutes, family comes in and sits down next to me for lunch. The two children, a girl maybe thirteen and a boy about ten, stare at me. I stare back. They don’t even blink, so I smile and give a little wave. The boy whispers something – which doesn’t do much, as I am basically sitting at the same table with them. I’m not entirely sure what he is saying, but I think he is running through possible nationalities for me with his mother.

She’s not Russian.

Georgian?

No, not Georgian.

I almost say, “Я американка” to absolve them of their confusion, but I’ve been in enough of these half-started, quickly aborted Russian conversations this week. Once I say one thing in Russian, people tend to think I understand much more than I do. They ramble for several minutes before realizing that I have no idea what’s going on, and then we’re left blinking at each other.

I’ve been traveling solo in Georgia for ten days now. Despite having lived here for five months, this is the first time I’ve traveled alone. For all other adventures, I’ve been with friends. But few people are able to just ditch their responsibilities for weeks on end to travel with me – and to be honest, the list of people I’d even consider inviting on such a trip is short.

But it’s been ten days since I’ve had a normal conversation with anyone, my weekly FaceTime with my parents back home not withstanding. I’m quite accustomed to traveling solo, even if the culture I’m in is not, but usually for shorter spurts. The last time I did more than a week on my own was about a year ago, when I toured western Ukraine for ten days.

Another story for another time, to be sure (it involves chasing daffodils and cherry blossoms, a wine tasting with free donuts in a castle basement, and an unfortunate bout of food poisoning on an overnight bus. Spoiler alert – I got off the bus).

While this trip has been going much better than that one, there’s something I’ve been thinking about the past week.

I think I’m over solo travel.

I read an interview once with a film producer who said that audiences didn’t feel emotionally satisfied when the hero accomplished his goal, whether it was discovering a corrupt politician or blowing up the Death Star. Audiences felt emotionally satisfied when the hero shared that victory with another character.

That principle stuck with me, not just in writing but also in life. I’m a rather social person anyway, so I try to fill my life with people. But I’ve also, especially in recent years, come to value the time I spend by myself. And to appreciate the skill of being contentedly alone, which is not a trait everyone has.

I’m fine traveling by myself – in fact, my confidence in my problem-solving skills has soared. But I laugh less. Because people think it’s kinda weird when the girl strolling by herself busts into giggles at something they can’t see. So I’m starting to wonder how to continue, and if it’s time to give up on solo travel.

Not forever, not permanently, and not in all forms – I’m definitely not done with the solo expat life. But to be honest, I was never all about solo travel anyway. I’ve done it out of circumstance and necessity. I do like the freedom and the personal growth, but I also like sharing experiences with people.

By the time I emerge from my room, ready to hit the beach, there’s a second woman in the reception area with the others. The owner extols to her how I’m traveling alone (and also that I have a giant backpack). I try to explain, in my very poor Russian/rather excellent miming, that I’m traveling a long time in Georgia. I start listing the places I’ve been, Batumi, Khulo, Kutaisi, now Ureki.

But alone! the owner exclaims.

“Ничего”, I say. It’s nothing.

The woman from the beginning nods with a smile. She’s come around. It’s no problem.

The new woman gives me a thumbs up.

I head to the beach, this tiny sliver of Georgia that upended my plans, drawing me from Kutaisi back west when I had intended to go east to Tbilisi. All this trouble had better be worth it, I think to myself. But the beach is stunning, the sand is magical (in addition to being magnetic), and the temperature is a perfect 78 degrees with a slight sea breeze.

So I swim in the Black Sea. I sunbathe on a beach of magnetic black sand. I go for a (pre)sunset walk on the beach. I do it all by myself.

Maybe there’s still time for me to come around to solo travel too.

What do you guys think? Was there a moment where you decided you were over solo travel? Or maybe that you loved it? Always interested to hear what other people have to say about their travel experiences, so please leave your thoughts in the comments!

How to Get to Ureki Georgia

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There are several ways to get to Ureki. You can take a train from Tbilisi – it also connects Kobuleti and Batumi, which means you can tour the Black Sea coast, if you’d like. You can also take a minibus. I came from Kutaisi to Ureki on a Batumi-bound minibus, which cost me 10 lari. If you are unsure of how to get to Ureki from wherever you are, check to see if the Batumi-bound minibus stops there. I don’t think they all do, so please please check. When I took a Batumi-Kutaisi bus, we did not take the Ureki route. If you want to leave Ureki by minibus, you need to go to the main road and flag down a bus going in your direction.

The minibus should drop you off at the train station. From there, it’s a bit over a kilometer to town. I walked it because I was like, “Pfff, a kilometer is nothing!” but it’s actually quite a lot when you’re carrying a giant backpack. There are typically taxis hanging out at the bus stop/train station. A ride into town should not cost you more than 5 lari.

I visited Ureki in early June, and it was clear the season had not really started yet. Not only were all the hotels doing their spring cleaning, but many restaurants and cafes were not open yet. There were still a few options, though, so if you can only travel in shoulder season or just prefer to, you will have everything you need. I assume the season really kicks off at the end of June/beginning of July.

Ureki is a small town, so even in the height of the season don’t expect the party vibes of Batumi. There are lots of hotels and guests houses for a range of budgets, and I think you could have a really comfortable chill beach vacation here. Check out the best prices for Ureki hotels.

To get the full medical benefits of the magnetic black sand of Ureki, you should bury yourself in it! I just kinda rubbed it on after a swim, then sat for about ten minutes before jumping back into the water to rinse off (I’m not a very patient person).